


November Sea

by AsaHGrey



Category: The Scorpio Races - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Gen, Thisby, but please be careful!!!, early thisby, it’s very ambiguous, please enter with caution, pre-puck connolly thisby, scorpio races fanfic, there are no graphic depictions, trigger warning: suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-30 02:39:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11454273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsaHGrey/pseuds/AsaHGrey
Summary: On Thisby, the capaill run free. The women do not.





	November Sea

“Tania!” calls Nikolas over the crashing of the waves on the chalk white cliffs. The high tide raised the water line to the height of two men standing on top of each other, and I stand on a ledge just above that line as the sea sprays my legs, bare because I had tied my skirt about my waist to climb down to where I stood now. I have my back pressed to the cliffs, and the sun, muted by the ever-present layer of clouds, lightly caresses my face with its rays.

Nikolas calls again. “Tania!”

I raise my voice to be heard over the roaring of the sea and yell, “I’ll be up in a moment, brother!”

I stand on my ledge until the crashing waves of high tide begins tickling my bare toes, and then I begin the climb back to the top of the cliffs. Back to solid ground. Back to Thisby.

When I reach the top, Nikolas grabs my arm to pull me back up and, as soon as he is sure I will not fall to the sea below, his grip on my arm changes. “What were you thinking, girl? On those cliffs with the November sea licking at your legs!”

I try to wrestle my arm out of his hand, but his grip is firm. “It is the only free place on this island. The only place I am not Tania Dunlevy, heir to every bloody handful of rocks and dirt on this Godforsaken isle.”

His expression hardens. “You’re coming home. Now.” He drags me back toward our home, not so far off that it couldn’t be seen from where we had stood, but far enough that my bare feet are covered in mud by the time we reach the door.

We walk into the house, a grand thing meant to look like the mansions on the main land, though the only thing it accomplished was to make the mainlanders think us quaint, and the locals think us pig-headed. Elizabet, a hired hand from the village, gasps at the sight of my bare legs and muddied feet. My mother- whose name before meeting my father was Mag Stief but whose married name was Madeline Dunlevy and would only answer to the latter- turned to level a scowl at me. She snapped her fingers at Elizabet, who scurried to her, and gestured at me, saying, “Take that urchin who calls herself my daughter and make her presentable for supper tonight.”

I gave Elizabet a scowl to rival my mother’s but still she took me by the arm and led me to my chamber to scrub off all the sin and dirt and sea from me and stuff me back into a corset and dress my mother had picked out for me.

“Elizabet?” I ask, as she tightens the corset around my chest.

“Yes miss?” She pulls on the cord even tighter.

I take in a deep breath, holding in all the foul words the boys on the docks had taught me. “Is the reason my mother wants me presentable because that damned Thomas Beech boy is coming over?” She sighed as I said Thomas Beech’s name, even though I said it with such malice that I could have told the Devil where his place was. That was a saying of my father’s. He used to say that I could put the Devil back in hell with just my wicked sharp tongue.

“Yes miss.”

This time I couldn’t help it and one of Danny Stowe’s favorite foul words slipped out of my mouth.

Elizabet gasped, surprised by me. I don’t know how she was still surprised by anything I said anymore. I had the sharpest tongue of any woman on the island, rivaling even some of the hardier seamen, half-dead, bitter old men who had tasted Thisby air too long to keep from doing anything but return the favor it had shown them. Some even said that my words could scare one of the _capaill uisce,_ the water horses who appeared on our beaches each November, as deadly as they were beautiful, back into the Scorpio Sea. They weren’t wrong.

The rest of the time Elizabet spent putting me together was spent in silence, and by the time we were done, mother’s running boy Gerard was letting us know that supper was served.

I heaved as large a sigh as the tight corset would allow and made my way down the stairs to the dining room. Sure enough, Thomas Beech sat at the head of the table, in my father’s seat, holding a silver spoon in his much too pretty hand, smiling like only a true leech could smile.

“Ah, Tania,” he said, “how delighted I am that you could join us.”

I glared at him, sharper than any of the knives set on the white linen cloth on the table. I sat down in the seat left for me, next to an unusually quiet Nikolas. He and I both picked at our food, made uncomfortable by the ease of conversation between Thomas Beech and our mother. I perked up at the mention of my name in their conversation.

“What?” I asked, not having heard the question.

“Tania, darling, I asked,” my mother said with a harsh look, “if you were excited about your betrothal to Thomas.”

“Betrothal?” I asked, my voice calmer than I would have expected from such a topic of conversation.

Thomas said, “Yes, our marriage.” He smiled at me, and his thin, oily lips reminded me of the seaweed that often washed up on the shore.

I didn’t say another word. I shot out of the chair, ran out the door, and towards the cliff side. I tore away the thick layers of my clothing as I went, and when I had ripped the corset off, I felt that I could breathe again, and I ran even faster.

The wind whipped through my hair until I stopped at the sight of St. Columba’s, the island’s only church and oldest building. It stood before there was Christianity on the island but even then there were _capaill uisce._ I look out towards the gray waves, and I think I see the mane of a bright red _capall._ Just the sight of the beautiful water horse draws me to the cliff’s edge.

I hear someone calling my name, and its Nikolas, running towards me, yet again the one in charge of returning me to civilization. The Scorpio Sea whispers my name, and I turn back to her. She’s calling for me to join her, and so are her children, the _capaill uisce._ She whispers that I will have no worries in her arms, while Nikolas yells for me to return to my ‘home.’

I look at my older brother one last time, whisper to the wind, “I am returning home,” and step off the edge of the cliff into the November sea.


End file.
